


Would You Forgive Me?

by Deannie



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1996-07-30
Updated: 1996-07-30
Packaged: 2018-01-01 16:15:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deannie/pseuds/Deannie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Scully is missing after "Ascension," Mulder goes by her apartment to take care of the place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Would You Forgive Me?

**Author's Note:**

> There's this particular song at the very end of Alainis Morissette's Jagged Little Pill--not even listed on the label--that's about her going into her old boyfriend's house. It's really soft and sad, and I thought it would fit Mulder perfectly. So please disregard the fact that Jagged Little Pill hadn't been released by the time Scully came back :).

Fox Mulder sat quietly in his car, looking at the Alexandria walkup. He hadn't come by in a couple of days, and even when he did, he stayed only long enough to water the plants and make sure the place was neat. He couldn't stand to spend much time there. It still smelled like her, even after weeks of absence. With a sigh, he steeled himself to walk up the stairs and enter.

Her apartment was perfectly clean, as it always had been--whether she was there or not. He'd spent a little money to fix the window, to replace the phone, the damaged furniture. He'd scrubbed at the blood in her rug for an hour before he was satisfied that she wouldn't see it when she returned.

When she returned...

It was becoming less and less likely. He sat, exhausted, on her couch for a moment, just staring at nothing, trying to think of nothing. Vaguely, he stood and went to the kitchen to get the watering jug.

As he wandered around, keeping her plants alive, he walked past the CD player in the corner of her living room. There was a CD in the carriage, and idly, he switched it on. He realized he'd never really known what kind of music she had liked. They didn't talk about things outside of their work--the occasional discussion of a wedding she'd attended, or her godson's antics... Nothing too personal.

The music startled him as he moved on to the next group of plants. It was harsh, angry. She hadn't seemed like that kind of person--the kind to listen to angry, angry women, screaming about their boyfriends, or life, or just anger itself.

A softer song came on, and he listened a bit more fully to it.

> Sometimes is never quite enough  
>  If you're flawless, then you'll win my love...

He tried to tune it out, but it seemed to cut a little too close to the quick for him.

> Be a good boy  
>  Try a little harder  
>  You've got to measure up  
>  And make me prouder...

It got characteristically harsh at that point, railing mercilessly against driven, unfeeling parents. He tuned that bit out. He'd already spent enough years at it to know all the words. As he finished the plants in her bedroom and came back out, the final stanza of the song, deceptive in its gentleness, almost made him drop the half-full pitcher.

> Be a good boy,  
>  Push a little farther now.  
>  That wasn't fast enough,  
>  To make us happy...

Damnit. He cursed himself for ever turning the damn thing on. "Wasn't fast enough..." Even her music could accuse him. If he'd just been home a few minutes earlier! He did drop the pitcher now, sitting on the edge of her couch again as he struggled not to cry.

After weeks of trying to get answers from *anyone*, he'd finally begun to realize that he couldn't do anything for her. Like so many people in his life... He couldn't save her.

As he sat, thinking of her, her music waxed and waned in the background. One song caught his ear and wrenched his heart.

> You know how us Catholic girls can be  
>  We make up for so much time a little too late...

It was an angry song, full of recrimination, and he found himself wondering if his partner, a quiet Catholic girl herself, felt that anger... "In the name of the Father, the Skeptic, and the Son..." He cried now. The Enigmatic Agent Scully, the eternal skeptic... "What I learned I rejected, but I believe again. I will suffer the consequences of this inquisition..."

But they should have been *his* consequences, he realized. She should never have been the one in danger. He just couldn't let her go, could he? They had been separated by the bureau--split away from each other just as they were truly building a trust. And he should have let it go.

But he just had to drag her into his new investigations. New Jersey, that bizarre first case with Krychek... God, he'd put her so much danger just by letting that traitor come with him to see her after he'd asked her to do the autopsy... He beat himself mentally as he remembered the discussion he'd had with her about his "new partner":

"He's more open to extreme possibilities--"

"Than *I* was?"

"--Than I *thought* he'd be."

"...It must be nice..."

"Yeah... Yeah, I wonder how I put up with you for so long."

How he'd put up with her? She was the best thing that had happened to him in so long... He rubbed at his wet cheeks, tuning in to the music briefly. "I recommend getting your heart trampled on to anyone..." The girl had obviously never had it happen if...

That was the real problem, he realized. He didn't just respect Dana Scully. He didn't just like her, trust her... He loved her. "What a jagged little pill..." He almost laughed, definitely cried.

God, he missed her.

More for the movement than anything else, he rose and wandered around the house, music playing in the background. "You live, you learn. You love, you learn..." She had pictures--of her family, her friends--sitting on a shelf with her books. Knowledge and friendship all together. He smiled sadly.

He smelled that faint fragrance of her again, and almost couldn't stand it. He'd left her bedroom exactly the way she'd left it for that very reason. It smelled like her, looked like her. It was a little thing, but it was all he had.

"You've already won me over; In spite of me... And don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are."

God, he did. He loved her even for her hard looks, her skepticism... "You're my best friend--best friend with benefits. What took me so long? ...I am aware now..."

He *was* aware now. Though it was far too late. She was gone. Soon, her family, her friends... they'd move on--those that hadn't already. The apartment would be cleaned out... And he'd have nothing but the memory of his own failure to remember her by.

And that neat, comfortable little apartment was suddenly full of memories. Late night pickups, coffee after an all night stakeout... He sat on the couch he'd sat on so many times before, and let the sound of *her* music engulf him.

> You're the sweet crusader  
>  And you're on your way  
>  You're the last great innocent  
>  And that's why I love you...

************

He couldn't have slept for long. The music was still playing--another angry piece that suited his mood completely. He was angry at himself, angry at those who'd taken her away before he could even realize he loved her, much less do anything about it... And he was angry at her. She'd left him alone, just when he'd begun to believe he'd never be alone again.

"I'm here to remind you of the mess you left when you went away..."

The angry song ended, followed by a long pause. He got up to turn it off, to get out of her apartment, away from the memories, when a quiet voice began singing into the silence, freezing him with its words.

> I went to your house,  
>  walked up the stairs,  
>  opened your door with the key you left.  
>  Walked down the hall,  
>  Into your room,  
>  Where I could smell you, and I  
>  Shouldn't be here,  
>  Without permission,  
>  Shouldn't be here....
> 
> Would you forgive me love,  
>  If I danced in your shower?  
>  Would you forgive me love,  
>  If I laid in your bed?  
>  Would you forgive me love,  
>  If I stayed all afternoon?

He looked at the stereo, accusing it of prolonging his pain, and moved to shut it off. But again the voice stopped him, and this time, the words drove him to his knees.

> And I  
>  Shouldn't stay long,  
>  You might be home soon,  
>  Shouldn't stay long...

But she wouldn't be home soon. He cried in her apartment, realizing that, for all his prayers, for all his hopes... She wouldn't be home at all...

> So forgive me love,  
>  If I cry in your shower.  
>  So forgive me love,  
>  For the salt in your bed.  
>  So forgive me love,  
>  If I cry all afternoon....

*****************  
The End

**Author's Note:**

> The songs quoted are Perfect, Forgiven, You Learn, Head Over Feet, Mary  
> Jane, You Oughta Know, and an, as far as I know, untitled piece at the end  
> of the cd. If I had to title it, it would be, as this story is, Would You  
> Forgive Me. All are from Alanis Morissette's Jagged Little Pill album. All  
> are used without permission, and no infringement is intended.


End file.
